


The Surest Sign of Intelligent Life

by abriata



Series: Trope Bingo 2016 [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6121751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abriata/pseuds/abriata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan had honestly hoped that if he ever made contact with a brand new species of alien life, it would be something interesting. Now he's hoping it will stop pushing all the buttons and trying to blow them both up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Surest Sign of Intelligent Life

**Author's Note:**

> there are certain tropes in trope bingo that I said I wouldn't or couldn't write
> 
> and then I decided to try to write certain ones anyway
> 
> trope: **au: space**

“Hello!” says the alien.

“Wow,” Dan says. “You’re disappointingly normal.”

Dan had honestly hoped that if he ever made contact with a brand new species of alien life, it would be something interesting. Something that was not just a fungus or the water-planet version of a squirrel, at least. He’d never thought it through, but now he’s revising his expectations to also include ‘something that does not look exactly like humans and apparently speak our language, too.’

“It’s nice to meet you,” the alien says, eyes wide and sort of frighteningly curious.

“How’d you get up here?” Dan asks. He’d been alone a second ago, and for the months before that, because his crew consists of exactly him and him. Only now there’s this thing that can just hop a ride whenever, which seems really safe.

“Well, I was going to meet you on the planet,” the alien says. “But by the time I figured out how your appendages work, you’d already left.”

“Right, of course,” Dan says. “Because you normally have...different appendages.”

“Oh, I don’t normally have a body,” the alien says. “Much less work that way.”

They blink at each other for a minute.

“Okay,” Dan says, unable and unwilling to think about that further. “Um, what species are you?” The computer is registering it as unknown, sure, but computers can be wrong.

The alien, still smiling, tilts their head to the side. “That’s a secret.”

Dan grits his teeth. Trying to keep a hold on his patience and panic alike, he asks, “What’s your name, then?”

The alien looks considering. “I don’t know how to tell you. What’s a good human name?”

“Um.” Dan flounders.

“What’s yours?” the alien asks, peering curiously at him. “I could just use that one!”

“No, you cannot,” Dan protests. Rude much?

The alien looks disappointed. “Okay.”

“You can come up with one later,” Dan decides magnanimously. “First, do you know what clothes are?”

“Of course I know what clothes are!” the alien says. “I just can’t get the texture right. I’d end up with clothes that felt like human skin or human skin that felt like clothes.”

Dan shudders a little at the thought. “Right,” he says weakly. “Come on then?”

The alien nods.

 

 

 

It takes almost fifteen minutes to make it through Dan’s _extremely small_ ship, because the alien keeps going, “Oh, what’s that?” and trying to push _all the buttons_.

Dan is going to die. And if he doesn’t, he’s going to murder the alien, new species or not.

“Sorry, I’m just curious,” the alien says.

So is Dan, but do you see him poking the alien all over and asking them how their parts work?

“Point taken,” the alien says, even as Dan fights down a flush. That sounded worse out loud than he’d intended. “But look, we can make a deal!”

Dan is immediately wary. “What do you want?”

“Let me stay with you for a week,” the alien says. “Let me learn about you, and then I’ll tell you about me.”

Staring, Dan says, “That doesn’t seem like an even exchange.”

“You couldn’t survive where I live, and you can’t change your shape so you can,” the alien says. “Otherwise of course I’d let you come live with me for a while.”

“Right,” Dan says, kind of numbly. “And what if I say no?”

The alien’s face falls. “I’ll leave.”

Dan sighs. “Put on some clothes.”

 

 

 

“So,” Dan says the next morning. “You still need a name.” He’s yawning, exhausted because he spent all night in the cockpit. There is a spare bed, but there’s only one bedroom, and he’d felt like he should make an effort to watch over his ship in case of sabotage, even though he didn’t know what he could do against an unknown alien species that could apparently show up when and however they liked.

“I was thinking about that,” the alien says. They’re poking at the shitty space food in wonderment. “I’ve decided I like Phil.”

“Phil.” Dan blinks. “For a name?”

“Yes!” the alien says. “It’s short and I like the letters.”

Because they not only read, but have opinions on the alphabet.

“...Sure,” Dan says. “Hi, Phil.”

Phil smiles at him, expression friendly. Speaking of—

“You said you made your body?” Dan asks.

“Yep,” Phil says, and puts some of the food in their mouth. Dan watches in fascination.

“So, you’re male?” Dan asks, as Phil seems to try to work out how to swallow.

“Nope,” Phil says. “I don’t have a gender or a biological sex.”

“Right,” Dan says. The next attempt at putting food in the mouth and then getting the food _out_ of the mouth (in the correct direction) goes slightly better. “So why do you look —” he gestures.

Phil looks down at themself. “Oh,” they say. “I got this from you, mostly.”

“From me?” Dan asks carefully.

Eating seems to have been mastered. Phil shovels more food into their mouth and then says, mouth full, “Yeah! I tried to choose features you’d like or accept as normal.”

“Right,” Dan repeats. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to be non-threatening!” Phil says.

“I appreciate that,” Dan says, thinking of the way Phil had shown up in the middle of his ship in the middle of _space_.

Aliens never understand sarcasm; Phil beams.

 

 

 

The first two days are mostly a repeat of the first night, where Dan tries to stop Phil from pushing all of the buttons and blowing them both up.

“But why do you have all of them if you can’t touch them?” Phil asks.

“You can touch them,” Dan says, and slaps away Phil’s hand as it moves, as if on instinct, toward the button that would disrupt the ship’s stasis field. “Just, only in specific situations. Which is not this one!” He slaps at Phil’s other hand and in desperation suggests, “You can touch the buttons and knobs that make food!”

 

 

 

Phil’s actually good at the whole food-making process. Which is great, because it means they can contribute a little while they’re freeloading on Dan’s ship, but is less great because now Dan’s got about two days’ worth of food sitting on his table, because Phil had gotten overenthusiastic.

“I mean, generally it’s not healthy to stuff yourself,” Dan says.

“But I feel bad about wasting your food. It should be physically possible to eat all of this?” Phil asks.

“Sure,” Dan says, because okay, he really wants to see what will happen here.

 

 

 

What happens is, Dan gets punished for being a terrible person, because he ends up eating at least a third of it.

“That was fun,” Phil says, “but I don’t feel very good.”

“You’re going to puke,” Dan says gloomily. He wants to lean forward over the table, but he’s afraid moving might make _him_ sick.

“What’s that?” Phil asks, then leans over and figures it out.

 

 

 

“I don’t want to do that again,” Phil says.

“You’ll be hungry again in like, twelve hours, tops,” Dan says.

“Never again,” Phil promises.

 

 

 

Ten hours later, Phil says, “Stomachs can be very loud. Which buttons do I push to get that green food?”

 

 

 

One of the biggest problems with an alien who doesn’t usually have a body, Dan finds, is that they don’t understand why personal space _regarding_ said body is important.

“No!” Dan yelps. “You don’t do that!”

“What?” Phil looks helpless.

“You stay at least two feet away from people unless you have a reason to be closer,” Dan says, “and you don’t _touch_ them!”

“You didn’t mind me touching you yesterday,” Phil points out. “And you touch me constantly.”

“I’m hitting you to keep you from touching _other_ things all the time, that is not the same,” Dan says. “And yesterday you were touching my shoulders and arms!”

“And your knees,” Phil says. “I don’t understand why it’s okay to touch your knees but not your hips. They’re both just joints.”

“That was not my hips you grabbed, that was my ass, and you _just don’t do that_ ,” Dan hisses.

“Okay,” Phil agrees, but looks at Dan as if he is being completely unreasonable.

 

 

 

It’s in the middle of day three that Phil passes out as they learn the hard way that sleeping is not an optional activity. Dan leaves them on the floor where they’ve fallen, but he does grab a blanket for them.

 

 

 

Dan wakes up to Phil making breakfast foods.

“Nice,” he says appreciatively, and takes the plate Phil holds out to him.

Upon handing over the plate, Phil leans forward and presses a smacking kiss against Dan’s mouth.

It says something about Dan’s life these past few days that he doesn’t even freak out. He just says, “ _No_ , Phil.”

“No?” Phil asks.

“People don’t do that,” Dan says.

“People do,” Phil insists. “I’ve watched five hours of that show you talked about yesterday, and people do that all the time.”

“Uh,” Dan says, and tries to figure out if it makes him a _total failure_ as an ambassador for the human race that he’s let a new alien life learn about them by watching _Friends_. “They do,” he acknowledges, “but only in certain situations.”

“Like the buttons?” Phil asks.

“Well, not like the buttons, because kissing someone won’t cause your air supply to be blown out or whatever,” Dan says, “but kind of like the buttons, yes.”

“So when do people kiss? And why?”

“Because it feels nice?” Dan guesses. He can’t say he’s ever devoted a lot of thought to the _why_ of kissing. He puts food in his mouth and chews, buying time. “And generally you do it when you like someone, or if you’re a couple.”

“A couple?” Phil cocks their head, looking curious.

Dan sighs. “A romantic relationship? You love each other?”

Phil still looks interested.

“When you’re fucking,” Dan says. “When you have orgasms together.” Oh god, does Phil know what orgasms are? There’s more than _Friends_ episodes on Dan’s hard drive.

“Oh,” Phil says. “People kiss when they’re a procreating pair.”

“Well, kind of,” Dan says, and wonders if he ought to go into the intricacies of human biology. He decides no. “Sure.”

 

 

 

They’re eating dinner and Dan is telling Phil all about the appeal of video games— _why is it fun to shoot aliens?_ Phil had asked, looking sad, and Dan fucking loves video games, okay, so he needs Phil to understand it’s nothing personal —when Phil interrupts and asks, “Do you have a partner for procreating?”

Dan almost snorts fake-wheat noodles up his nose at the thought. “No,” he says. “Is the way I’m out here all alone in a ship meant for one person not a clue?”

“Why not?” Phil asks, peering intently at Dan.

“That’s one of those things people generally don’t ask,” Dan says.

Phil shrugs. “I’m not a people.”

Dan disagrees. He definitely considers Phil a people. But that’s not a point worth arguing right now. “I don’t always get along well with people. And I wouldn’t have a, um.” He pauses.

Phil nods encouragingly, and Dan sighs.

“I wouldn’t have a partner for _procreating_ , exactly,” he says. “I’m not that into women. Um, females. So my partner would really just be for, um, companionship.”

Phil looks horrified. “So you couldn’t have offspring?”

“If you mean, can males get pregnant—can _I_ get pregnant,” Dan says. “No. And thank god for that.”

“Huh,” Phil says, looking as if they’re pondering this deeply.

“You guys don’t work like that?” Dan can’t help himself asking. Sure, he knows some alien species have like, three or four sexes or whatever, but Phil had asked about procreating pairs like maybe their species just did the two-sexes thing.

“I told you, I don’t have a biological sex,” Phil says patiently.

And then there’s a weird _thing_ , like a static glitch happening in reality, and Dan shakes his head to clear his vision. And there’s Phil, who now has a female body and is kind of—weirdly still identical to not-female-bodied Phil.

“Oh my god,” Dan says, and then has to lock himself away for ten minutes as he panics, because he’d kind of been forgetting about the whole shapeshifting, naturally non-corporeal thing.

 

 

 

When he comes out, Phil is back to normal.

“That made you uncomfortable,” they say.

“Kind of weird, yeah,” Dan says. “Generally people with bodies are stuck with that body.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Phil says.

“It’s okay,” Dan says. “Just maybe don’t do it again?”

Phil nods seriously.

 

 

 

Dan has stopped pretending that he’s doing anything besides sharing the things most likely to amuse or horrify Phil.

“This is amazing,” Phil breathes.

And okay, he hadn’t thought that the fishbowl screensaver would be quite so fascinating, but whatever Phil likes.

 

 

 

Phil decides they love simulation games.

“You mean you all just keep these animals?” Phil asks. “In real life? You keep them and take care of them because you think they’re cute?”

“Well, yeah,” Dan says. “I mean, we keep animals that are useful too, because we eat them or something, but if we keep them just for fun, they’re called pets.”

“Can any animal be a pet?” Phil asks, very seriously. They’re eyeing the cows on the screen of the farming simulator with intent.

Dan bites back a laugh. “Yeah, if you’re stupid, I guess.” He reconsiders. “Or very brave, depending on the animal.”

“Hm,” Phil says. Then they sigh. “I couldn’t have a pet. Nothing can survive where I live.”

Technically they haven’t passed the week that was their deal yet, but Dan seizes on the opening.

“Do you really live just, out there?” he asks, gesturing towards one of the glass walls beyond which the terrible empty openness yawns.

Phil nods. “I mean, I can go to planets too, but it’s hard when you don’t know anything. And most places, it’s hard to find entities who are alone so you can get to know them.”

“Like me,” Dan says.

“Like you,” Phil agrees.

“So what do you—” Dan starts slowly. “Do you just float around out there?”

“Not floating,” Phil says. “No body, no floating.”

“Right,” Dan says, frustrated. “But what’s it _like_? You’ve had a body now, how’s it different?”

Phil looks at him for a long moment. Dan, feeling a little embarrassed at his outburst, looks back at the farming simulator, where one of the cows has begun to dance in place, ready to be milked.

“Does your species have any telepathic capabilities?” Phil asks abruptly.

“No,” Dan says. “Some people say they do, but they’re lying.”

“Hm,” Phil says. “I’m going to try something.”

And then before Dan can stop them, they’re cupping a hand around the back of Dan’s neck and Dan’s head is exploding into color and sound.

 

 

 

He wakes up feeling like he got shot.

“Fuck,” he says. His voice comes out in a weak rasp.

He’s been put in bed, and when he speaks, Phil darts into the room, nearly braining themself on the door seal. “Dan!”

“What did you _do_ ,” Dan says.

“I tried to show you some of my memories,” Phil says guiltily.

“What part of _we’re not telepathic_ did you misunderstand?” Dan demands. Or, tries to; it comes out like an angry whisper.

“But I’m very telepathic, so I thought I could just show you them,” Phil says. “I didn’t think it would hurt you.”

“What _did_ it do to me?” Dan puts a hand on his throat. “How long have I been passed out? And what the fuck happened to my voice?”

“You screamed a lot,” Phil says, kind of dismissively, but when Dan stares, they remember their guilt and look down at the floor. “And it’s only been a few hours.”

“Jesus,” Dan groans, and flops back down into the bed.

“I’ll bring you water!” Phil says.

 

 

 

Phil hovers over him the rest of the day and most of the night. Dan’s voice is still fucked, but besides some residual soreness from muscle spasms or whatever, there’s no other physical effects. He also needs to avoid bright lights, but he generally keeps his ship a fairly dark place anyway.

“I really am sorry,” Phil says.

“It’s okay,” Dan says, partly to get Phil to shut up and partly because he means it. He does make Phil keep bringing him tea, though.

 

 

 

He wakes up the next morning to Phil sitting cross-legged on his bed and looking at him patiently.

“Guh,” Dan says. His throat hurts less today, so he clears it and says, “What have I said about weird invasive behavior?”

“I’m not touching you,” Phil protests.

“Whatever,” Dan says, giving up. He sits up and rubs a hand over his hair self-consciously. Phil doesn’t move the way they usually do when Dan has finally woken up and can provide answers or entertainment. “What’s up?” Dan asks, a little concerned.

“It’s been a week,” Phil says.

The bottom drops out of Dan’s stomach. “Oh,” he says stupidly. “Right.”

“And I think you’ll run out of supplies soon,” Phil says. “I read a little bit about how your ship works. You’ll definitely need to get water soon.”

“So you’re backing out of our deal?” Dan asks sharply.

Phil blinks, taken aback. “What?”

“You’re saying I should get going,” Dan snaps. “So you’re going to leave because it’s been a week, and you’re sending me off because I’m running out of supplies because you _wasted everything_ , and that’s going to be your excuse for leaving without telling me anything about yourself.”

Phil sits there silently until Dan has finished half-shouting at them, and then they shake their head. “I’ll try to tell you anything you want to know,” they say. “But I do think you should start heading back to a planet that’s good for humans.”

“Wow, fuck you,” Dan mutters, even though that was their deal. He stands up and starts wriggling into clothes. If he’s going to be planning a route and actually piloting today, pyjamas probably won’t cut it. It’s the principle of the matter.

“Don’t you want me to leave?” Phil asks.

“Yeah, can’t wait.” Phil’s knee knocks into Dan’s side as Dan stomps out of the bedroom.

 

 

 

“So I was thinking,” Phil says two hours later.

Dan stares intently at the navigation screen and doesn’t answer.

“You haven’t been very helpful.”

Dan jerks around. “Excuse me?” he demands. Sure, he can’t answer questions about the whole of human history or whatever, but he helped Phil figure out how to function in a human body and how to avoid completely freaking out every human ever and how to understand what humans do for fun. He taught him all the important parts, basically, and he even kind of fumbled through a sex talk in there, he deserves _credit_ for all that.

“I haven’t even had real food,” Phil says. “Or met a pet.”

Confused, because that is not the direction Dan was expecting this fight to go, Dan says, “We’re on a spaceship, we can’t really keep real food or pets.”

“But planets have real food? And pets?” Phil asks, looking hopeful, and oh.

 _Oh_. That’s —okay.

“They do.” Dan bites his lip, forces himself to stop, and then bites it again. “Do you—want to come see one?”

Phil beams.

 

 

 

“Remember not to touch anyone!” Dan says. He’s panicking a little at the thought of releasing Phil into a shopping centre full of humans. He would like to stay with Phil, but Phil insists they can’t know if they’ve learned everything well enough if they’re not allowed to go out and test themself. “Not even on accident or to get their attention.Never.”

“I know!” Phil says cheerfully. They’re staring around in awe. “You told me.”

“Yes, but did you listen?” Dan says. “No. Because your hand is on my back _right now_ and I know you don’t care that if you move even a bit, it’ll be on my ass but _I do_ and other people will care even more so if you can’t remember what parts are okay to touch, just don’t touch!”

“I _know_ ,” Phil repeats. “And people don’t kiss each other, either.”

“Right,” Dan says. He’s feeling a little lightheaded. This is going to go _terribly_. “Great, okay, so remember that and that you have to give people money for things, and maybe you won’t get arrested. If you do have trouble —”

 _Call me_ , he was going to say, but Phil leans over and kisses him, a lot gentler and slower than the last time.

“ _I know_ ,” Phil says again when they back off. “Dan, I’ll be okay.”

Dan clears his throat. “Will you?” he demands. “Will you really? Because what did we _just_ _say_ about kissing —”

“People kiss when they like each other,” Phil says. Then they kiss Dan again.

“Oh.” What the fuck is Dan supposed to do with this? He still doesn’t even know what _species_ Phil is. What the fuck is he supposed to —

The third time, Phil catches Dan’s mouth open. Dan stops worrying about what the fuck and starts worrying about the fact that they’re still in the middle of a shopping centre and an alien with no sense of personal boundaries is slipping him tongue.

“What do you call those videos of people having sex, anyway?” Phil asks lightly.

“Oh my god,” Dan says, and stands there in mortification while Phil steps away, grinning.

“I’ll call you if I need anything,” Phil calls back, and starts to disappear into the press of people.

“And don’t buy any pets!” Dan yells belatedly.

 

 


End file.
